Window Watching
by Donner Dumott Schunard
Summary: Roger has gone reclusive after New Year's. Collins and Mark recruit Angel to find out what's wrong with him and snap out of it. Entry for speedrent on LJ. Err... not RogerxAngel. Don't worry.


Well... once again. Random ideas give birth to random fics. This was after I saw a picture of Angel sitting in Roger's lap from a European production of RENT... yeah.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own RENT. Durr.

**Window-Watching**

**By Donna**

"Close up on Roger, who's been sitting on that windowsill for days now, with a face that I have become quite accustomed to."

Roger jerked around, parting his lips to say something. He expected to see Mark, but instead he saw... Angel.

"Hey, honey," Angel said. She pushed black bangs from her eyes and smiled.

Roger snorted, turning his head and asking, "Why the hell are you here? You barely know us."

Angel sighed. She was on assignment, courtesy of Mark and Collins. Roger had suddenly fallen back into his sinkhole after New Year's and they nominated Angel to find out what was up. It was an ingenious plan, really. Angel was as determined as Roger was anti-social. She wasn't going to let Roger get away with more months of moping around the loft.

"May I sit?" Angel asked.

Roger gave her a look of disgust. "No."

Angel sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not going to bite, darling."

Roger snorted. "Yeah. Okay."

Angel walked over to the windowsill and sat down next to him, not caring about what he was going to say. She clicked her heels on the fire escape. "It's kinda nice out for January."

Roger nodded. "Why did you say that when you first came in?"

"The 'close up' thing?" Angel asked. She shrugged. "Mark does it all the time. I figured you'd turn your head and react if you heard something Mark-like. It might've resulted in you about to jump me or throw something at me, but it was a risk that was worth taking. And it's true. Every single time I have been stopping by, you've been hanging out of that windowsill. You want to talk about it?"

"Not with you," Roger snapped.

Angel flinched. "Are you a homophobe or something!"

"What? No!" Roger exclaimed, "I'm friends with Collins, remember?"

Angel snorted. "Oh, please. Collins is by far the straightest gay man you'll ever meet. Trust me, he doesn't count."

"But I'm not a homophobe," Roger corrected, "Got it?"

"So why do you hate me?"

Roger covered his face. He really didn't need Miss Mary Sunshine giving him Twenty Questions. He'd rather jump off the stupid windowsill. "I don't hate you! Get that out of your head!"

"But you think I'm crazy. Right?" she asked, lifting her chin. It was fun twisting Roger's mind a little.

"Yeah, I do," Roger snapped, "I think you're fucking nuts. You go around saying, 'everything's so _fabulous_ and _great_! And I got this _fabulous _anarchist boyfriend and we are just so _great _in our floral pattern world!'"

Angel giggled. "No I don't. I don't gloat about everything. I'd rather not talk about my relationship with Collins. He likes things private and I don't want to leak them out and make him mad. And you forgot the hand motions when you used 'fabulous' and 'great.'"

Roger's eyes narrowed into slits. "Whatever."

"Is this because Mimi is all over you and you still can't get over your last girlfriend?" Angel guessed.

Roger's fist clenched. "You nosy bitch. Who told you?"

"Collins and Mark. Collins likes to keep things private, yes, but things like that are allowed out of the bedroom."

"It figures," Roger sighed. "You have no right to look into that matter. I've only known you for two weeks. You have no business in my past."

"I shouldn't have to bug you about it, either," Angel retorted, "You should be over with it."

"What gives you the power to decide how long it takes someone to mourn!" Roger screamed, "You're such a..."

"Bitch? Yes," Angel said, "You're not mourning anymore. You're just shutting everyone out and bottling it up. Here's something that will get a rise out of you. I'm not that different from you."

Roger pulled back in shock. "What! There is no way I am like you!"

"Hah. You can't see it? You've bottled so much shit you're leaking. I did, too, and I ended up like this."

Roger kicked the side of the windowsill. "What's 'this?'"

Angel threw up her arms and said, "A gay man with a strange complex in his brain that tells him to wear dresses, talk an octave higher than normal, speak Puerto Rican slang, have anonymous sex, in a carry-on bag of AIDS."

Roger stared blankly. "Well... that's your problem."

"_Exactly_!" Angel exclaimed, "It's _my _problem! Not yours, Collins', Mark's, or anyone else's but my own! You, on the other hand, piss and moan and mope around and make your problems everyone's problem. So I go Oprah on your ass and talk to you on this windowsill."

Roger frowned. "I don't..."

Angel began to play air guitar and moan in a whiney voice, "Iiiii am Rooooger... Iiii can't liiiiive anymore because I got... AIDSssss..."

"Go to hell!" Roger screamed, "You don't know what it's like to be me!"

"And you don't know what it's like to be me," Angel argued, "My God, Roger! I don't know what it's like to be a lazy sack of shit that has nothing to do with himself but play with his guitar and bitch and moan! I got over that whole 'I got AIDS. I'm gonna die' complex a long time ago and I think I'm doing pretty damn good, don't you think?"

For the first time in the whole conversation, Roger made eye contact with Angel. He stared into her dark eyes and tried to read some self-doubt and he couldn't. She smiled slyly. Everything was going according to plan.

Roger leaned back and sighed. "Yeah... I guess you are."

Angel stretched like a cat. "I'm glad you see it my way." She purred as she curled her back, unintentionally.

Roger looked the other way. Who'd ever think Roger Davis would be hanging out a windowsill in East Village with a drag queen? Oh well.

"...so," Roger said, "Uhm... w... when did you know that you were... gay?"

"Why'd you ask?" Angel asked.

"I don't know! Just answer the damn question," Roger snapped.

Angel smiled gently. She got a little bit of Roger's barrier down. Just had to keep on pushing on it. "Eh, about... twelve."

"How?" Roger asked.

"I don't know. I liked stuff normal guys didn't like. Singing, theater, music in general. Sure, a lot of guys did drums, but it wasn't a normal guy banging the drum, drum make loud noise deal. My father didn't like it. People would ask me if I was a 'fairy' or something. And I was called it so much I began to say, 'Yeah! I am!' and then I got into the dark world of gay porn and shit. You know, seniors buying you stuff? I wanted to be able to make out with guys on the beach in a banana hammock and having wild, passionate sex. Didn't say anything. Oh God, no. And it began to get into my head that I was a little... desperate? Yeah. I was an addict."

Roger stared. "No way..."

"Yeah. If any guy wanted to see if he was gay, I'd gladly help them out. Bang the drums during band, bang the boys during study hall. It was a foolproof plan. So many guys wanted to see because I kept quiet about it."

"So then what?" Roger asked.

"I realized by junior year it couldn't work that way. And I needed to find myself by senior year so that I could do something once I left the house. And I spent the weekend with some friends in the city and I found a nice little drag club and found my niche."

Angel's eyes sparkled. "It's all coming back to me... we snuck in and we saw these really pretty queens there. They had pretty red hair and perfect makeup and dresses. They belted out 'Rebel, Rebel' by David Bowie, you know? _Hot tramp! I love you so!_ It called to me. It said: 'Ángel, you are born to do this!"

Roger blinked. "Ahn-hel?"

"My parents wanted me to have a good Spanish name. It's Angel with an accent over the a. So it's AHN-hel," Angel explained, raising her fist. "It's masculine, so I just took off the accent and had Angel."

Roger laughed a little. "Oh. I see."

"Yep!" Angel chirped, "I became a drag queen after high school and ran wild. I would disappear for a week or two and come back to my parents house with glitter in my hair and they'd just stare blankly. I was meant to go to college, but I knew it wasn't for me. I told them I was gay and left for here."

Roger nodded. "And that's it?"

"Well, there are major parts of that story missing, but I don't feel the need to tell you everything. We've only known each other for, what, two weeks?" Angel said, sticking out her tongue. "My moral of the story is that I did such stupid stuff and I know it was wrong and it gave me my... issues, but I can't always be caught with that. I have to forget my regret and go on with life. And you can, too, Roger! You can live even though you have AIDS. Prove it to me. Prove it to April. Prove it to... Mimi!"

Roger laughed at the thought of the dancer at Catscratch. "Oh... her."

"Yeah. I like that girl when she's not high," Angel gushed, "What's the status with you and her?"

"...Uhm," Roger started.

"Oh. I see. You don't know, do you? I think you should go with her," Angel suggested, "You need to get out more and she needs to get in more. You'll make a happy medium."

"Where the hell do you come up with these... ideas?" Roger yelled.

"I look too high up in the clouds," Angel said, smiling. "It's my namesake."

For some reason Roger smiled a reasonably big smile. "Yeah. I guess."

"You're still young. You can dream and you can be weird, still," Angel said. She got closer to Roger. "It's okay."

Roger nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

"So where's Mimi?" Angel asked.

"I think she's... I don't know," Roger mumbled, shrugging.

Angel got a little closer. "Well, next time you see her, ask her out to dinner or something."

"I don't have any money!" Roger exclaimed.

"Yeah you do!" Angel chirped, pulling her leg under her chin. She unbuckled her left shoe and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "Ah! My emergency money! Here!"

Roger stared. "This isn't any emergency."

"Yeah it is," Angel corrected, "You need a life... STAT!"

Roger rolled his eyes and took the money.

"Anytime, honey!" Angel said, laughing.

Roger sighed. "Uhm... well... err..."

"Normal people hug or smile or say 'thank you,'" Angel said, buckling her shoe.

Roger nodded. "Oh... right."

He slowly moved to Angel and tried to open his arms. Angel took him close and hugged him. "You're welcome."

Roger sighed, staying there for a moment. Humiliation? Yes. Scary? Yes. Loved? Hell yes.

He mumbled, "You know... we aren't different."

"Hmm?" Angel asked.

"We aren't different," Roger repeated, "We're just two people trying to live our lives."

"Yeah!" Angel cheered, "I knew you'd see it my way!" she broke the hug and gave him a dazzling smile. "Don't hug Mimi like that, now. That was the equivalent of a dead fish."

Roger nodded, blushing. "I... better go get dressed."

Angel nodded, getting into the loft. "Yeah. You go do that."

She grinned confidently as she walked away, saying, "I always win."

**END**


End file.
